La Machera
by GaiaCleaver
Summary: Here is the tale of a revolutionary. Rated T for later events.
1. Furfante

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Prologue: Furfante.**

_REVOLUTIONARY: An oppressed person waiting for the opportunity to become an oppressor._

_The Cynic's Dictionary._

All was quiet on the streets of the Vatican City.

The city state had fallen silent in the late hours of the evening, swept with darkness, the only sources of illumination being street-lights dotted about the barren roads, along with whatever patches of light originated from lit rooms in homes. Save for the odd handful, the citizens of the country had fallen into a state of slumber, being whisked away, one by one, to the realm of dreams and phantasmagoria.

Well, most of them.

For apart from the aforementioned odd handful that chose to fend off the urges of rest and opted to continue whatever tasks they were performing, there was one more certain person in their ranks. But he was, by no means, any ordinary pedestrian.

No, one could not hope to find him amongst the general citizenry. This particular character shrouded himself from normal society. He had to remain concealed, unknown, unseen by the eyes of the populace.

The reason? He was a revolutionary.

Of course, there were those Pandania terrorists who claimed to be what he was, but, to this man, there was a wide difference between them and him. To this fellow, those nationalists were little more than rabble-rousers, who carried out their acts of disorder with no forethought- he didn't agree with their supporters who labelled them as people who wanted socio-political reform. Simply put, he didn't exactly like them (save for that one couple who had been generous enough to lend him certain supplies).

A revolutionary on the other hand, in the view of this secluded figure, was one who planned their schemes carefully, intricately, making sure that, when the time came, everything ran like clockwork, who made absolutely sure that the masses were educated _properly_.

And this man was certainly a planner.

It was his practical profession, and his reason for his seclusion. One couldn't plot out in the open, as he knew, and he wasn't asinine enough to put his plans in jeopardy- he knew the rules. In isolation, he had drawn up his grand designs for months, nay, years on end- his design to aid not just the minute Vatican city state, but the distraught and forlorn people of the torn nation of Italy.

But why did Italy become a concern for this fellow?

The man was British, after all- Italy was only a port of call. His main base of operations was in 'good old Blighty', as he quipped. He had the burden of his own work in London riding on his back, and that alone was stressful enough. So why _did _he venture overseas to this place?

It was all because of the auspicious occasion that the circumstance in the country put forward- it was something fresh, something revitalizing. So, 'Why not?', he thought, 'London can wait', and, in haste and in disguise, departed his homeland and headed off to the crisis that plagued Italy.

He left due to the chance that the case presented- a chance to ignite a revolution elsewhere. What with the nation being so submerged in disarray and the governing forces constantly losing strength, it was a prime location for him to commence his insurrection.

It wasn't anything that would pass by quickly, either- this person intended for his rebellion to be lengthy. It wasn't the repudiation of the current government that he was totally fixated on. He also had other doings to perform- but, like his revolution, he had taken said tasks into account, and he planned for _them_, too.

Yes, he planned, slaved over his strategy like a devoted scientist seeking to cure some sort of highly destructive ailment. But, as noted, he did so in secrecy. So, where did he hide himself, this vigilante, this up-and-coming rebel, one might ask?

In a church. An abandoned example in the outskirts of the city, left deserted after being ravaged by a fire, the ruins being kept as a memorial monument by the order of the Pope; an ageing, crumbling building which served as his hideout. It was, of course, within the hallowed hall of this derelict place of holiness that he devised his future doings, and vigorously so.

However, tonight was different.

Within the confines of his own personal abode, the tiles of which were worn and chipped with age, and the stone walls of which were undecorated save for the drab natural tan of the material, the man was seated before the altar. Clad in robes of night, and, at last, prepared, he was ready.

He had taken years of his life to flesh out his idea, his _intentione diabolique, _and it had all boiled down to this point in time. He was mere moments away from setting his scheme in motion...but he still had to perform one final action before he could do so.

_The finishing touch,_ he thought.

He stretched over to his left, and removed an object from a small hanger next to him. It was a mask, forged from porcelain, sporting a jet black pair of eyes that bore a mischievous look to them, as well as something of a malicious intent.

Above the painted lips, there was a moustache, accompanied by a goatee below the lower lip, both making the object appear funny and sinister, but what topped it off was its last feature, and a feature most significant- a smile.

A wide, frozen one, akin to the expression of a deranged psychopath and that of a clown whose mouth had contorted into an overly joyous grin, a mixture of comedy and horror that, ultimately, created something that looked both comic and utterly terrifying.

And this was what he donned.

Having put on his false visage, he glanced at the mirror in front of him- the only other thing present on the altar besides the hanger, and a box placed on its right end. He smiled.

The frozen face grinned back.

He was ready.

The masked man rose from his seat (not before retrieving the contents of the box, first; a set of home-made explosive devices along with a miniature detonator), primed and set for the task ahead, and wheeled about, the cape that he wore over his shoulders billowing outwards behind him- revealing, in turn, a set of knives in scabbards around his waist. His secondary tools of destruction.

And so, with explosives in hand and blades of shimmering steel in his possession, the masked man sauntered out of his hideaway, into the cold darkness outside. Within a moment, he was gone, becoming one with the night.

The time was precisely 11 o'clock, on the fourth of November 2006...and the hour of change was at hand.

_Viva la revolucion._

(Author's note: The hideout I've chosen here is entirely fictional. I thought it would be best to use an abandoned church. With it being on the outskirts, were it real, it would probably be near St. Anne's in the Vatican...but, enough babbling. The next one will come soon enough.)


	2. Fanciulla

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Chapter One: La Fanciulla**

_"Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness."_

_Confucius._

Within moments, the masked man was swiftly on his way.

Exiting the Vatican City in a matter of moments, with his necessities hidden beneath his cloak and the container of his deleterious objects being tucked safely under his arm, he soon broke into a sprint upon leaving the boundaries of the tiny realm.

His destination had already been predetermined.

In his time in Italy, he had scouted the area outside of the Vatican time and time again, looking in many a place to come across a suitable target. It took him a while to locate one, but, recently, he spotted a certain structure that was outstanding, and very much so.

Said target was a Baroque church in Rome, between the Piazza di Spagna and his place of residence, and quite a well-known location, too. The Sant'Ivo alla Sapienza.

It was an outstanding building, and a grand example of ancient architecture, which only helped in making it more popular amongst the public. What was important, however, was neither the design of the structure nor the fact that it was a recognized edifice (though that was more notable than the former). What was _important _was that it was big.

The man was aware of one obvious truth- striking large targets would attract attention and, at this point in time, that was what he desired. He wanted to make his presence known to both pedestrians and politicians, but he would save the commorancies of priority for later- going after them, was, for now, a mission of lesser concern.

All he needed was a simple fire-starter, to execute a scheme that would keep the media, ministers and general public occupied until he went further with his plans; until he moved another piece on the chessboard, figuratively speaking.

And the demolition of Sant'Ivo, with it being conspicuous and immense as it was, was _certain_ to do just that.

And so, with his plot in mind, the ever-smiling man carried on running through the dark, invisible, towards his goal.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Meanwhile, elsewhere, it just so happened to be that, at the same time as the vigilante's speedy voyage, another event was occurring.

The centrepiece of this soon-to-be happen-stance was a young Italian citizen- a girl going by the name of Stella Cravado.

Now, there was nothing evidently special about this girl- a teenager, rather slender in build, dressed in clothes that didn't attract much interest, with a head of brown hair and rather exuberant green eyes (though in the darkness one could definitely not tell that they were so). She was just another ordinary citizen, a usual face in the crowd- so it seemed, at least.

Every person had their secrets, after all.

Secrets weren't pertinent currently, however. What _was _pertinent was the situation that was to come; in fact, it was, quite literally, around the corner, for as this Stella Cravado rounded a turn her sight fell upon a trio of shadowed men, who snapped out of a conversation and glared at her, smirking, with malicious intent...

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He had arrived.

It had taken some time, but he had come upon his destination, travelling there most unnoticed save for the handful who craned back their heads to look behind them as he quickly passed by, unnerved by the sound of quick footfalls, yet found themselves staring into the darkness and nothing more, and this worried them further. Indeed, a few were so spooked that the thought of a ghost fleetingly passing them entered their minds. They were not that far off from the truth.

Wraith-like and veiled, this person, very much like a ghost, had trekked through the centre of Rome at a rapid pace, and had gotten to where he needed to go- that, of course, being Sant'Ivo.

Standing before it, the man felt an almost overwhelming sense of awe wash over him- the exterior of the building gleamed in the night, the moon's light reflecting off of its surface. The Baroque structure looked eve more majestic in the twilight than it was in the day, this grandeur being accentuated by the low lighting that partially illuminated the church, and the spire, in particular, was marvellously outstanding, the stone angel spreading its wings, looking upwards at the lofty heavens.

The man let out a sigh, one that bore an underlying air of sorrow to it. It was almost a shame, he thought, that he had to destroy such a wondrous work of art.

Almost a shame.

For, as stunning as it was, it was his target, and therefore, despite its majesty, its ultimate fate was its elimination.

Swivelling his head about from left to right to check if any others were lurking nearby, and seeing nothing, he continued onward towards the church, and, in turn, towards the point where he would plant the first explosive. Once that and the others were set...

It would all be little more than a simple matter of time.

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Around that same time, Stella Cravado was spot of bother. More than that; rather, she was running for her life.

The aforementioned group of three men who looked at her with a malicious intent made their intent known by promptly brandishing weapons and pursuing her. These three were thugs; undesirables, scum, those who got kicks from seeking lone victims and having their way with them.

Stella just happened to be said victim.

So far, she had managed to outrun her assailants, but they were gaining on her fast and she was quickly becoming fatigued and out of breath. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before they caught up to her.

Still, she willed herself on, dashing down the street as fast as her legs could carry her, her chasers following her trail. Her eyes scanned the area in a panic, hoping to find some nook or cranny to conceal herself in, or some path to use as an escape route, and with the men behind her catching up fast, time was running out.

Unadulterated fear began to race through her as her attempts at finding a way of escape proved to be unsuccessful, and her breath came to her in short, sharp gasps with her eyes still moving about in a frenzy in their sockets, frantically looking for a way out- still, to no avail. The gang was swiftly closing the gap in between her and them, and it was then that a single thought started to repeat itself inside her mind:

_Where?_

It was a rather austere thought, but that didn't matter as this solitary word played over again and again within the confines of her skull.

_Where...where?!_

Suddenly, she tripped, unaware of her footing, and fell forwards with a cry, hitting the ground hard. She picked herself up, her pursuers having gotten closer in the meantime, and started to run again. The solitary thought resurfaced (_WHERE?!) _as terror surged through her body, and she looked about again (any nook, any cranny) for a path that she could use to elude those who doggedly ran after her, still searching, and it seemed to her that all hope was utterly lost...

...Until, that is, she spied an opening, that of an alleyway.

She bolted for it, the thugs being mere paces behind her, in the hope that, in the narrow passageway, there would find a gate or something of the sort to climb over and, by doing so, evade those who were chasing her, or at least impede their advance and hide herself away whilst they dealt with an obstacle of that kind, if there was one.

That, however, was not the case, for as she entered the alleyway, Stella Cravado, panting heavily, found herself staring, mortified, at a drab stone wall a small distance ahead of her. She was trapped.

And the hounds were closing in.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had not taken him long.

Upon reaching the church, he had expeditiously placed the explosive devices contained in the box that he carried on key points in the target's structure within the space of a few minutes. With all of them primed and set, six in total, his first objective was complete.

All that was left for him to do now was to sit back and watch the fireworks.

He briskly proceeded to leave the area, starting to go back the way he came. He also firmly hoped that, just as with his voyage to Sant'Ivo, he would return to his place of residence undetected, or, at least, with no disturbance.

Fate, being the fickle thing that it was, had different plans in store for this revolutionary.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"What do we have here?"

That was the remark of the apparent leader of the trio of men, a rather young man with a head of unkempt black hair, a sinister leer plastered on his face, and a blade poised at the girl's throat, his free hand grasping her neck tightly. As he looked into the eyes of his prey, which displayed a fright unlike any other, his leer transformed into a twisted grin.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a young flower here!" That was the second man. The third stood back, viewing the scene as the chief ruffian pressed the terrified Stella forcefully up against the wall at the end of the pathway. He beamed menacingly at the quivering figure, placing his knife under her chin.

"Whatever should I do with_ you_..." he cooed, his words accompanied by the snickers of his colleagues. "You're one hell of a fine catch..."

"L-Let me go!" the captive girl whimpered, attempting in vain to plead with her captors. "I'll do anything you ask, a-anything! Just let me-"

She was cut short by an abrupt laugh, a cold, mirthless one, emanating, of course, from the mouth of the thug before her. Beads of sweat began to trickle down her forehead as that cruel cackle rang in the air, which continued until the man regained his composure, still wearing that insipid grin on his features. "Oh, man, oh, man...you don't know our code of conduct, do you, missy?"

When she replied, Stella's voice was filled with clearly audible anxiety. "Wh-what are you talking about?!"

"Firstly," the man said, "We do whatever we want with you-"

The knife moved away from Stella's throat, and began to move downwards, slowly, running down her shirt.

"-and_ then _we let you go. Well, either that...or we kill you." Ignoring the gasp of horror the girl made, he shoved his face up close to hers and sneered, whilst his second companion stopped simply watching what was going on and moved in next to the leader and his first accomplice.

"_That _is our prerogative."

And as the group reached for Stella, she screamed.

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Coincidentally, the masked person, by chance, happened to be ambling right by the alleyway in which this occasion was taking place, and heard the shriek of the girl who was being assaulted.

Now, it is the natural instinct of some to help those who are being assailed, and this specific man bore that instinct. And thus, forthwith, he stepped into the lane, making his presence known by declaring, "Well, well!"

With an angry growl of "What the hell?", the first man turned to see who had intruded upon their little activity, and stopped dead at what he saw.

It was a..._thing_, dressed in night itself with no human features visible, swamped in darkness from head to toe save for one very striking feature, this being a mask that it wore, a moustached, goateed one that grinned devilishly. It looked silly, but it gave this supposedly ethereal being the appearance of some deranged kind of phantom, and it struck fear into the hearts of these men (and the girl that they had been harming, too) with this fear being palpably discernible as the first ruffian yelled, "Who the fuck are you?!"

The phantom took a few paces forward, surveying the scene and looking at both the men and the horrified girl (the thugs being partly relieved by this as the echo from the footfalls reminded them that this unknown was indeed human and not something spiritual, even though their panic was not fully alleviated) and responded, though his response confused the group of delinquents, namely because it did not pertain to their question.

"Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile..."

This reply perplexed the group, with the third man asking, "What the hell does that mean?"

Taking no heed to his words, the masked human-spectre carried on speaking, walking towards the cowering damsel. "Filths savour but themselves..."

The leader of the gang snapped, both at the words the newcomer said and upon realizing where he was going, heading towards their prey, and with an indignant cry of "You're not takin' her away from us, you fuck!" he lunged forward, knife-raised, thrusting downwards...

And was startled to find his arm promptly suspended in mid-air, held back by a black-clad hand. The man was startled, but this sensation was short-lived as he found himself sailing through the air, the unknown man throwing him over his shoulder to the floor.

The knife slipped out of the thug's hand, and his impact with the ground was so powerful that it knocked the wind out of him. Nevertheless, he tried to get up and retrieve his weapon.

He never got the chance to do so.

The unknown opponent quickly withdrew something silver from around his waist and, in an instant, plunged it downwards straight into the lead thug's chest, the object, a dagger, piercing into his heart. He didn't even have any time to cry out- he was felled instantly.

The second man recoiled in horror at what just happened, but still found the strength within himself to prepare his weapon, again, a knife, with a rather crooked blade, and rush at the attacker. The phantom-being withdrew his dagger from the corpse of the person he had just killed, and, as the second one swung at him, he caught his hand firmly and twisted it harshly, breaking the man's wrist. Disregarding the fellow's roar of pain, the masked person flipped his armament about in his other hand and rammed the hilt of it into his foe's stomach, making him topple backwards whilst clutching his chest in agony.

The masked killer turned to the sole survivor, who was almost rooted to the spot by horror. He hurriedly turned away from the carnage and tried to flee, but the slayer of his friends merely threw the blade he was holding through the air, the dagger spinning and slicing through it, with the object embedding itself into his back, the impact knocking him off his feet and sending him falling, face first, into the pavement, dead before he hit the ground.

After yet again withdrawing his weapon from the second cadaver, he wheeled about, his cloak following him, and strolled over to the second man, who was still in the same position from when he had been immobilized, still clenching his torso in anguish and making a series of pained grunts. He stopped doing so when he saw the masked character hovering over him ominously. There was a brief silence, with the gangster blanching at the sight above him, until the murderer of his companions spoke, his words sending a very distinct chill down his spine.

"Is man no more than this?"

The person he was speaking to struggled to find an answer, but never got to saying one as the speaker added, "Really, thou art the thing itself; the man who is villainous is no more but such a poor animal as thou art."

"What does that mean-"

The victim's response was halted as, just as how the first man met his end, the ghoul that stood over him thrust downwards with his bloodied spike of silver, silencing him. After a moment, he pulled the knife out of the man's carcass, slid it back into a small scabbard situated on a belt around his waist, and looked at the girl who was pressed up in a corner at the far end of the alley. He took it upon himself to greet her, calmly.

"Good evening."

After a period of stillness, the girl finally summoned up enough courage to ask this stranger-cum-saviour one question.

"Who are you?!"

"Me?", he answered, sounding rather jovial despite the fact that he had brutally slain a group of men mere seconds ago. "I..well, imagine that, in the future, that I shall be branded as a whole menagerie of names, monikers or whatever else, but, for now..." He threw wide his cloak, and bowed deeply to the bewildered child.

"Let us just say that, for now, I am the villain."

"I...see..." Stella said, perplexed.

"And you would be?", the 'villain' asked.

"...Stella." was what he got. Upon hearing this, the ever-smiling man's head bobbed up and down.

"Of course you are. Tell me," he inquired, "what might the time be?"

Nervously, Stella rolled back her sleeve and checked an old wristwatch. "Eleven fifty-five...why?"

"Almost time, then."

Stella, left somewhat dumbstruck by these words, said "Time for wha-"

Before she could finish, the figure, in a blink, scooped her up, and ran out of the shadows of the alley.

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It was some time later that, having gone down another alleyway closer to home, in the revolutionary's case, and climbing up a set of stairs that led to the roof of a building housing a number of flats, Stella and her masked guide stood overlooking the city of Rome, in all its night-time splendour. They were looking at one location in particular- the still visible spire of Sant'Ivo.

And it was also some time later that, since it was necessary to ask, Stella said, "Why? Why did you help me?"

"I am a friend of the people", he responded. "And I scheme to aid them. You were in trouble, and you, of course, are one of the people, and thus I helped you. But what is to come will help you, and many others. Greatly, might I add."

A second question was thrown his way. "And why do you wear a mask? Are you...a performer?"

"We all wear masks, Stella. Life creates them and forces us to find one that fits." Realizing that he had confused her, he put forward something more simple. "Do you know what day it is?"

The girl looked at her timepiece again, the hands showing the time to be one minute to midnight, and the date to be...

"November 4th."

"Not any more..."

On cue, bells rang in the distance, signalling the dawn of a new day, and, as they chimed, the 'villain' recited a rhyme that was unknown to the child standing by him.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of the November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever...be..."

He reached within his robed, and fished out the one remaining item from the box that he once had- a detonator.

"...Forgot."

He pressed a switch.

And then it happened.

The spire of Sant'Ivo, and the rest of it, was suddenly consumed by fire, with this being preceded by a massive bang, heralding an explosion. More followed, and the flames rose higher amidst the thunderclaps caused by the bombs being detonated. Stone and marble was blasted apart with ease by the actions of the devices that, unbeknownst to the girl, he had planted, and such was the ferocity of the discharges that they produced that, within a matter of seconds, the building, spire and all, was utterly demolished, with the angelic statue falling last, the place becoming nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble.

All the while, these explosions were mixed in with the sight and sound of fireworks, also made by the detonation of the bombs, made to do so by the masked man's request (he did recall that those two suppliers looked a little bemused when he asked them to make his weapons have this small add-on). And Stella, being the young one that she was, was overjoyed by the display that they put on.

"They're beautiful!", she said, whilst watching them, completely entranced by the colourful flashes that they made.

"Isn't it just?"

The two watched on, seeing the blasts illuminate the night sky with people down below, unnoticed by the couple, viewing this too, in part-disbelief, part-amazement, and as the event reached its climax, a final strobing blitz occurred with two fireworks crossing in mid-air, forming a letter in the process:

V.

And in the distance, the pair could hear the wailing sound of sirens.

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His plan worked like a charm.

All over the country, the media turned its attention from other highlights and, at once, focused on the sudden fall of Sant'Ivo. Crews were on the scene, and police forces would be following them, but they would find nothing. For the culprit, and his acquaintance, had already left, with no evidence to show that he was the one who caused this tragedy.

Or so he thought.

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News of this had also reached the headquarters of the group known as the Social Welfare Agency.

Sitting at his desk, Chief Lorenzo, who was already being bombarded with reports from his juniors about the attack, was ordering others get any form of material showing who the planner of the strike was from any source imaginable.

_Next,_he thought, _we'll have to send our teams in...and we have no idea what we're up against right now._

His words were true- the SWA hadn't faced an enemy like this before, one who was so audacious as to strike at the heart of Italy in a manner such as this. He had time to prepare, and time to find out what he could, but after hearing about what happened to Sant'Ivo, he wondered about just how much time he had before this elusive terrorist struck next.

However, he and his fellows weren't alone in seeking to find out who the mastermind of this destructive act, even though this was, at the time, not known to Lorenzo. For within the Vatican, not so far off, news of the incident had also reached the ears of another...

(Author's Note: I think a couple of parts could have gone better...but, that aside, it's done. Read and review!)


	3. Difensores Part I

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Chapter Two: La Difensores (Part I)**

_The care of human life and happiness, and not their destruction, is the first and only object of good government._

_Thomas Jefferson._

This one person in particular was Ulisse Albero, the head of what was known as the Vatican Child Security Organization.

The Vatican Child Security Organization had a rather outstanding history compared a slew of other organizations, in Italy, at least. The group itself was considered to be a product, a secondary branch, of the Social Welfare Agency. Indeed, the two of them were counterparts- this unit based in the Holy City was formed through higher-ups in the Agency lending the then-fledgling and still-fledgling unit a helping hand.

Said aid was giving the new group assets in the form of cyborgs, four of them, exactly. They were, after all, one and the same when compared with their Italian allies. Like them, they were an organization that took 'orphaned' children or youths affected by tragic accidents under its wing and, posing as an orphanage-cum-hospital, transformed them into killing machines, hidden under the veil of their outward physical appearance.

Cyborgs.

For, after all, that was what the VSCO really was- a group just like its Italian partner. The one difference was that it acted as more of an internal police branch than a cross-country armed force like the Agency was, but even so, that didn't make it any different from its brother group. Just as the SWA upheld the safety of the citizens of Italy and fought against those that posed danger to the people within it, this group did the same for the Vatican, safeguarding its population from harm, and with notable efficiency.

There was, however, one outstanding feature that set this unit apart, in a way, from the SWA. This was, namely, the amount of controversy the unit received. Indeed, a good portion of the Roman Curia within the Holy See showed anger at the concept of such an organization being thought up, let alone created, and a divide was formed in the Holy See and in the government of the Vatican City, with some supporting the idea and others adamantly opposing it. However, it was ultimately the decree of the Pope that settled the dispute, and he favoured the construction, with him thinking it best that the tiny nation followed in the footsteps of Italy.

Protest still existed, but the result was that the VCSO was successfully founded, much to the relief of the Pope, the majority of the government, and Albero, mainly because he, a former soldier in the Italian army, had been selected by the Pope to take command of this unit- it was for this reason that he supported its creation. As a soldier, of course, albeit a former one it was his duty to protect the country that he served.

And, in the face of what had occurred what seemed like mere moments ago, he had to live up to that duty.

Already, Ulisse was bogged down, as he had spent a good part of the day trying to obtain any information that he could regarding the incident that had taken place so close to the city; indeed, it was, quite literally, too close for comfort. And as he sifted through what he had been given by his colleagues, he recalled what he had been told about the attack.

He remembered that Sant'Ivo had been utterly decimated.

He remembered that the culprit remained entirely unknown.

And, most infuriating of all, he distinctly remembered the rather troubling fact that the perpetrator couldn't be identified- all because of that mask he donned.

_That damned, accursed mask_, he thought.

Despite the fact that the mastermind behind this strike couldn't be traced, however, that still didn't stop Ulisse from attempting to do something about it. Informing the rest of the organization was at the top of his agenda. He had set about doing so over the course of the morning with alarming speed; there were, on the other hand, a certain number of people that had not been let in on what had occurred last night, not fully, at least.

And that certain number was seated before him- four figures in total, eyeing him intently.

The first was a young man, dressed in a suit, with notable features of his being a goatee and a distinctive pageboy haircut. He was sitting perfectly still, calm and composed. The second was an aged character, clearly the most senior of the four. He, too, had a beard, grey with age, and wore a stern expression on his face, along with a rather conspicuous outfit like that of a cardinals on his frame. The third, like the first, also donned a suit. He had a tanned complexion, skin that matched his dark brown hair. He also wore a monocle, something that made him appear rather eccentric. The fourth and final person who Albero faced was the sole woman in the room. Just like the aforementioned third male, she, too, had tanned skin, as well as an eye-catching head of bleach-white hair brought about as a result of her dying it.

These four were the handlers of the Vatican Child Security Organization, and it was these four that Ulisse Albero had to speak with.

"As you know," he commenced, "we are dealing with an incredibly deadly force here, and-"

The man barely got halfway through his words when he was interrupted by one of the persons that he was talking to, namely, the elder. "We _know _of this" he interjected, curtly. "And I thought," he continued, "that we were summoned here to know more of the incident that befell our neighbouring nation not mere hours ago?"

"I was getting to that, Ladislao, if you don't mind", Ulisse replied; calmly, but with an imperceptible hint of annoyance in his voice. "From what Alvise has told me," he said, referring to a colleague of his, "the person who carried out this atrocity cannot be identified...because of this."

After briefly scanning over the documents scattered over the surface of the table he took residence in front of, he picked up a sheet which had a picture printed on it. "This is an image that one of the CCTV cameras near the scene of the crime picked up."

Ulisse leaned forward, and passed the article to Ladislao, who proceeded to examine it along with his fellow colleagues, each passing it to the other in turn. The picture it displayed, though grainy, showed a rather odd scene- that of a figure wearing an inconspicuous mask, with a teenage girl by his side, exiting an alleyway. After a short while, Ulisse passed another, showing a picture that was taken at an earlier time outside Sant'Ivo, with a similar black-clad person standing at its entrance. Upon closer inspection, the four realized that he, too wore a mask. One other aspect that stood out was the fact that the man had an object tucked under his arm- a box.

Ladislao, ignoring the box, focused on the character's features, and stared at Ulisse, absolutely dumbstruck. "You suspect that some sort of _clown _is behind this?"

"There is no doubt that this 'clown', as you call him, Ladislao, is responsible- around the time of the incident, he was the only one at Sant'Ivo at the time this picture was taken."

"Then," the man with the pageboy haircut piped up, "you want us to look for him? To have our units deployed?"

Ulisse nodded in response. "This is a high-level threat- and this man is the main suspect. We can't track him down as of yet, but I want you and them on patrol around the Vatican. I've already received word from my friend, Lorenzo. The Social Welfare Agency is already on this case and is currently deploying their fratello, and, in turn, we must do the same." He glanced at Ladislao and the younger, goateed man. "Ladislao, Eutimio. Go and inform the girls of their assignment." He then looked at the other two, and addressed them promptly. "Guido, Azzurra. Tell the others to prepare the equipment for the teams."

All four complied, rose from their seats, and left the scene. Ulisse, looking back down at the documents strewn across the desk before him, let out a long and heavy sigh as a single thought crossed his mind:

_This task is going to be arduous indeed._

Ulisse's office, as well as the office of others in the organization and other rooms that had special functions that were under the jurisdiction of the group, were all in a certain block within the confines of St. Peter's Basilica. One of these was particularly notable, standing out from the rest.

It was a bedroom. Not just any ordinary bedroom, nay, for it was occupied by a quartet of equally notable inhabitants. At present, two of these four were seated at a rectangular table, and the remaining two were seated on the lower bunks of different beds, and one feature was shared amongst them- all four were dressed in the uniform of nuns. It was part of the modus operandi for the child operatives of the unit to dress as such, as a form of disguise- and it was a good one.

Said operatives were undertaking their own tasks, and talking amongst themselves. The first was a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl of average height, having, like Eutimio, a pageboy cut- this was Dulce. The second wore an eye-patch, had a visible scar running down her face, and a head of long blonde hair, along with a single green eye- Crocifissa was the name that she went by. The third was a black-haired, tanned individual who also donned a pair of glasses framing eyes of gray, which gave a rather studious look to her; Silvestra was her name. And the final child in the room, who was preoccupied cleaning a knife that she had in her possession and wearing a stoic expression on her face, was Gloria, the fourth and final member of the team.

Those were the four, and, as mentioned beforehand, each was performing a task of their own, said tasks mainly being preparing and checking the weaponry that each of them held, with their respective armaments being handed to them prior to them being in the room after a briefing from their superiors; rather, their handlers, which was followed by a brief visitation to the armoury. Also, chatter floated about the room, the subject of it being...

"So...who are we hunting down again?"

That was the question posed by Dulce, to which Crocifissa replied, "That masked target. Weren't you listening during the briefing?"

"I was!" Dulce retorted, pouting. "His identity just slipped my mind. But, Crocifissa..."

"What?"

"If he is the terrorist...he's a rather funny one, isn't he?" Dulce, refraining from checking her Smith & Wesson M&P for a moment before stuffing it into a holster, shifted her posture, cradling her chin with a free hand in a gesture of thought. "He just looks peculiar- like a theatrical actor or...or a clown!"

Crocifissa sighed as she handled a loaded FP-45 Liberator, packing the rather oddly-shaped and somewhat block-like device into an ankle hostler, and did the same with a set of throwing knives in small, concealed pockets on a pair of specialized gloves she wore, and responded with:

"Fifteen points."

Dulce, suddenly flustered, answered back hurriedly. "Out of how many?"

"Whether looking like a clown, or entertainer, or not," said Silvestra, making herself known, "he is our target. Therefore," she said, whilst placing a sleek Heckler and Koch MP7, along with a pair of magazines, inside a small cuboid case, "we must track him down- and, indeed, if he is the culprit, eliminate him with prejudice." At this, Dulce could only nod her head in agreement.

Gloria still remained silent.

In fact, since the conversation petered out, silence took reign over the room, and it stayed like that for a while until, when the quartet had finished, Dulce threw another question Crocifissa's way.

"Do you think that...that dealing with him, if he's the enemy, will be easy?"

Another pause, and another reply:

"Four points."

And, again, the nonplussed reply: "Out of how many?"

"If he is the architect of the razing of Sant'Ivo, and, if such is the case, if he was able to obtain the assets needed to decimate a building like that church in one fell swoop, he is resourceful- and, therefore, not an average foe, is he?"

Once more, Dulce was silenced, and once more an air of quietness dominated the place. Its dominance was short-lived, though, as the sound of the door that lead into the room opening caught the attention of all of the occupants, and as all four pairs of eyes fell upon the now opened door, they caught sight of the aged, towering figure of Ladislao, who looked at the girls with with an expression so stern that it would terrify some. Upon his arrival, Gloria hopped down from the bunk she was sitting on, taking her knife, now sheathed in a scabbard, with her, and joined the others.

"Are you all set?", the elder inquired. His query was answered by a simultaneous nodding of heads.

"You know the drill, then. The others are waiting for you. Come, with haste."

And so, with the old man leading them, the four set off to meet up with the others.

A mission was at hand. Neither the girls, Ladislao or the others knew how onerous it would become in the future, but they worried not, for now, at least.

Keeping the people safe was their duty, after all.

(A/N: Eh, I feel that I could have done a bit better with this...mainly at the very end. But, do read and review.)


	4. Difensores Part II

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Chapter Two: La Difensores (Part II)**

"_In every profession the daily and common duties are the most useful."_

_Anon._

At this time, the girls and handlers of the Social Welfare were already prepared for the task ahead.

Indeed, even as the teams of the Vatican Child Security Organization were starting commence their duties, albeit with haste, three units of its sister group were already in place. The first was comprised of the ever-loyal and dutiful Jose, and the equally loyal and just as docile Henrietta, who, prior to this operation, had sworn yet again to attempt to please her handler- of course, she was unable to muster up the courage to inform him of her pledge herself, and, instead, had to do what she often did- confide in Triela.

The aforementioned German girl formed half of the second group. The other half was, of course, Hillshire. Triela, in the aftermath of the briefing, had shown rather notable zeal upon being assigned with the task that she was currently undertaking- aside from the act which, purportedly, the masked character that been shown to Hillshire by Lorenzo and, in turn, told to Triela by Hillshire, had carried out, Triela had also been compelled to carry out her task because she had found the appearance of the supposed culprit to be "freaky"- so said Henrietta, at least.

The last was the duo of the ever-perceptive and ardent Jean, and his budding perfectionist of a cyborg, Rico. Like operations in the past, Jose's brother was in command of the execution of this exercise. Rico, faithful as she was, had followed his handler without a word.

Concluded, these six made up the teams of the Social Welfare agency sent to aid the VCSO.

Like them, of course, they were performing the same mission. Currently, every team was scouting about a certain area in the centre of Rome. _Scour the place until any trace of his whereabouts is discovered, _Lorenzo had said to his fellows, and, mere moments ago, Ulisse had said just about the same to the handlers of his group.

However, neither organization had reaped any success so far. After all, coming across a man clad in black and wearing a bizarre mask wasn't an everyday experience. Jose, along with his colleagues, knew this- after all, it was obvious. Even so, this fact did not stop them from searching for the character.

As the one Croce brother paced down yet another secluded street, or whatever street that qualified as being remotely secluded in the centre of the Italian capital, with Henrietta trotting a pace or two behind him, her Amati violin case in hand, looking for any signs of the masked man even though it seemed futile (although Jose wasn't one to abandon a task easily, if at all), he radioed yet another message to his sibling through an earpiece.

"Any sign of the suspect yet?"

"_None"_ was the reply from Jean through the ex-Carabinieri , who, along with his charge, was situated in an empty apartment. The two of them were already set up, with Rico leaning out of a window whilst cradling her trusty Dragunov SVD in her hands, resting it on the window's ledge, whilst she looked out at the group of buildings that stretched into the distance, scanning the streets through the scope of her weapon for any signs of her target._ "We've had no reports from Hillshire's side, either."_

"I see", Jose promptly replied. "Henrietta and I are still on patrol as well- no sightings on our end, too."

"_Understood. Inform us if you see the target. Be vigilant."_

With that, Jean fell silent. That silence also carried over to the duo, with Jose remaining laconic for some time after the conversation with his relative ended. Henrietta, too, stayed quiet, still _was _quiet, as she and her handler continued walking, until she piped up and asked:

"Jose...what did Jean say?"

The man cast a look over his shoulder, and said back, "Still no luck." The young girl's posture deflated slightly upon hearing this, and she replied, "Not even Triela or Hillshire, too...?"

"Not them, either- but, rest assured, we'll get this guy...whoever he is."

At once, Henrietta beamed.

"Right!"

* * *

Elsewhere, another pair, this one being from the VCSO, was on patrol. Said couple were the stern yet calm Crocifissa, her weapons concealed by her garments, and the punctilious, loyal Eutimio, who had a Beretta 96 concealed in an arm holster beneath the jacket of his suit. They, like their fellow teams, had been searching the area, with two of the units, Azzura's and Guido's, looking within the borders of the Vatican City. Crocifissa and Eutimio, along with Ladislao and Dulce, had been asked to search outside the tiny city state.

And all of them, regardless of where they searched, had reaped no rewards thus far- as aforementioned. It seemed that, today, they were all blessed with a rather outstanding degree of bad luck.

Crocifissa, however, took no heed to this, but still inquired to her handler:

"Were they sure that this person's base of operations was in the centre of this city?"

"It's what Ulisse and the others deduced", was the succinct response. "We just have to keep looking. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

And so, with their senses heightened, the pair carried on with their duties.

* * *

And, as they were doing so, a figure clad in black spied on them briefly from the shadows.

It was a fleeting glance. The man had also seen a handful of other couples arranged very much like the one he was witnessing- a young or middle-aged man, and a female child. It was odd, but not something he had paid extensive attention to for the moment.

Moving on, diverting his gaze from the two and darting swiftly onwards through a maze of back-streets, he was in the process of carrying out a second errand. This, however, was not the annihilation of another building, but rather a personal vendetta against a certain someone that he knew.

Unnoticed to the eyes of the public, he flitted from place to place (coming across another one or two of those couples, he noted) until, being hidden all the while, he came across his destination. The front of it, at least.

It was a secluded homestead, namely so because of its placement amongst the alleyways and back-streets of Rome. It had a plain door, worn with age, with a pair of equally plain and grime-covered windows flanking it on either side. There were also two people guarding the entrance of this house, who _weren't _so plain- two men in black and white Mafioso wear. One was tall, lanky, and suspended on a pair of legs that looked more like stilts than anything else. The other was short and rather portly. Were they not holding Beretta PM12s in their hands, and donning classic Mafia suits, they would have looked like a pair of comedians.

They certainly did not, though, give off any funny quips when they saw a masked man striding towards them. Funny looks, on the other hand, were exhibited by both of them.

Ignoring their stupefied expressions, the masked character sauntered down the pathway, coming to a stop before the two armed men, and stated, in a formal manner, "I am here to make a sojourn. A visit to one Antoni Parule."

"And you expect to get in, just like that?" That was the lanky guard.

"And," said the portly man, scanning the cloaked figure up and down, "freaks like yourself don't deserve our bosses' attention-"

"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?"

The portly man, puzzled by the masked one's reply, blinked in befuddlement before the strange visitor reached into his robes and, in an instant, retrieved a silver implement from a belt around his waist, and brought it upwards in a swift arc. The armament, a knife, cut into the flesh of the man's belly, the wound gushing out blood as the guard, completely taken aback, lurched and fell backwards, felled instantly.

This action incited a scream of horror from the guard's companion, followed by a burst of gunfire from his firearm. This the man dodged- and this, too, was quickly silenced.

* * *

And, simultaneously, the duos of Henrietta and Jose, and Eutimio and Crocifissa, heard both this cry of terror and the abrupt stop of the gunfire. On instinct, all four started heading in the direction of the sound.

And so, the hunt began in earnest.

(A/N: I feel like I could have done better with this. Unexplained points will be explained...but, do read and review.)


	5. La Inizio Part I

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Chapter Four: La Inizio (Part I)**

_Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend._

_The Mysterious Affair at Styles._

Events prior to what was currently taking place had led up to this present happenstance.

Indeed, the masked man had targeted the abode that he was now entering by force, but after coming across the frail being that was Stella Crovado, his resolve to carry out his task was heightened by what she had told her as both she and the cloaked figure wandered away from what little remaining of the burning wreckage that was Sant'Ivo. The happenings still fresh in his mind, he recalled what had been exchanged between him and her vividly. Indeed, even as he was in the midst of doing his duty, he remembered it all- every word that had been communicated between the two, and how the girl, along with her words, had affected him so dreadfully.

He stood before the door, which was now stained with the blood of the two unfortunate sentries that he had butchered mere moments ago, and reminisced about the conversation that still lingered in the back of his mind. It had started off with simple questions and just as simple answers, but the man's attention was caught when he asked her where she had come from.

"_If I may be permitted to inquire," _he had said, _"would you mind informing me of where your dwelling is?"_

"_My home?" _she had replied, and, after a long pause, as the man collected, she continued, stating, _"I...don't really have one."_

This had taken the man aback- something that was noteworthy- and, in the now, he remembered that he had to stay silent for a short while in order to regain his composure. Granted, it was a meager handful of seconds, but, nevertheless, he was shocked that a person such as her, who had the makings of a perfectly normal family girl, would be without a place to call home.

In the face of this revelation, the man had offered to take her in, to lead her back to his aging homestead. The girl obliged, and the two sneaked back into the city state that was the Vatican under the cover of darkness. Distinctly, he recalled at how, when the two returned to the abandoned church, he had asked her to tell him all about her.

"_What am I?", _she had exclaimed. _"I'm only a teenager! I have no story to-"_

And he had cut her off, and said, calmly, _"Heavens, no. No matter what their standing is, regardless of how long one has lived their life, without heed to their profession, background or whatever else, everyone has a story to tell. Everyone has their own standpoint on life and their experiences in it. Therefore, I wish to hear of the experiences of Stella Crovado. Is that alright?"_

With these words of assurance, she had obliged.

* * *

"_My past life...isn't all that interesting by any standards, to be honest", the girl uttered, her being seated on a pew opposite an identical one that her rescuer reclined upon. "I was born a little way from here, in L'Aquila. I had a relatively uneventful childhood. My father happened to be a supporter of..." She paused, briefly. "...right-wing political movements, or something like that, from what he said. We eventually moved out to Rome, and we knew of what was going on there...he immediately caught word of that Padania group and soon set out to become a member of it to help the side of politics that he was aligned to. My mother...didn't oppose it."_

_The girl stopped a moment, and found that the masked fellow was listening intently, so much so that he urged her to carry on. She did so._

"_He participated with the Padania, and...became a part of the group he adored. I still remember seeing him constantly dressed in that blue outfit...it was...bloodstained, sometimes, and...anyway," Stella said, stuttering fleetingly, "we dealt with it, even to the point when my father became increasingly aggressive, but we soldiered on, until..."_

_She halted for breath. The man sitting across from her leaned forward, awareness raised, his attention captured by the tale of this girl. "Until?"_

"_He went on this certain mission, near the Piazza di Spagna, and...we did expect it, but he was killed. After that, my mother became reclusive. We tried living on as best we could until she-"_

"_Say no more", the man commanded, gently. The girl started sobbing, quietly, and, at this, the phantom stepped over to her, sat down next to the quivering, crying child, and embraced her, resting her head on his shoulder. "I...understand your situation. But cry no more...you're safe now. I can assure you of that."_

"_How...how can you be so certain? You..." The girl sounded doubtful, and her words were ultimately cut off as she convulsed once again, trying to control her sobs. The masked man shifted his position, and the frozen visage that the man wore stared into the watery eyes of the girl before it._

"_I am certain because I, like you, have suffered pain. Pain indescribable, torture unimaginable, one could say that I have braved the pit of hell itself...but, even so, that is still pain. And you, of course, have braved your own sort of hell."_

_Stella attempted to cease her sniveling, and looked at the masked face in front of her. "Even so...why? Why did you take me in? And why do you need me here? You could have just left me behind there, you know...yet you took it upon yourself to save me, and-"_

"_You were- are- a victim, Stella. I see that now. And I aspire to help those who are victimized. You, being one, along with the population of Italy itself. I want to help you, just as I want to aid the rest of the beleaguered souls in the boundaries of this country. That is why I rescued you- so that, in the future, you, and others, no longer be harassed."_

_The girl looked at him, confused, but this expression soon faded away, with her understanding the man's words. Still, despite being calmed down somewhat, she had a question in mind._

"_But, who are you?", she queried. "I mean, you save me, and you take me to this place, and you haven't even told me your name..."_

"_Name?", the man had said back, sounding perplexed, to a degree. "I do not have one, for it is lost. In its place, however..._

_...You may call me 'V'."_

* * *

V recalled all of this in an instant.

And in that same instant, he vowed, within himself, to do his duty quickly- for the people.

For her.

And so, with swiftness, he broke in.

* * *

Meanwhile, as V commenced his act of carnage, a man inside the house he was assaulting was quivering with fear.

This man was Antoni Parule.

On the outside, to any ordinary citizen, this man seemed rather usual. His general appearance, a well-kept head of hair and a face that showed signs of aging gave him the look of an experienced businessman, a man with command and authority, one who was well-versed in doing his job.

But, of course, every man has their share of secrets. Antoni Parule was no exception to that rule. Unknown to the cowering character, this secret, and a dark one it was, one kept only within the confines of his household and nowhere else and also a secret that required him to be protected by a number of armed guards under hire, was the very reason why the man outside, although Antoni had no knowledge of the identity of the attacker, was targeting his house- and himself.

Right now, to him, however, knowing who the person who was currently besieging his dwelling was was not a priority. His safety, and the well being of others, was classified as being such in his mind. Hastily, whilst guards scurried down the stairs, weapons in hand, he herded his wife and child, both babbling hysterically, into a bedroom.

Because safety took priority, not the name of the entity that chose to lay waste to the area so suddenly.

After all, if the guards didn't stop him, finding out who he was was inevitable.

* * *

Panicked yells were shouted out by suited men when the masked intruder forced his way in.

In contrast to the panic that filled the room, V sauntered in with a bloodied knife in hand, almost casually. He scanned his surroundings, briefly, and made for the stairs, still pacing normally. It was when the first man raised his firearm, mere moments after the black-clad ghoul broke into the place, that carnage began in earnest.

The man only got to pressing down on the trigger of his armament when the ever-grinning person rushed forwards with phenomenal speed, batted the hapless sentry's Glock 19 aside with his blade, the force of the blow making its user press the trigger fully and making the gun discharge a round into a wall, and grabbed the man's face with his free hand, smashing the side of his head into the wall next to him with such ferocity that a small indentation was caused. Fresh blood flowed, running down the wall from the point of impact, and V released the man's head, the body falling to floor, lifeless, in a crumpled heap.

Only seconds after eliminating the first suited man, V turned his attention to a second one across the room from him, and a third right next to him, both aiming identical Tanfoglio Force pistols at the masked trespasser. They opened fire, forty-five caliber bullets rocketing towards the cloaked killer at a frightening speed. As the hired guns let loose their first volley, V darted, the bullets missing him by mere inches, some ripping through his cloak, and continued his killing spree by unsheathing a knife and throwing it, with an even mix of control and force, across the room, the projectile making its home in the chest of the second man, who keeled over backwards, felled, blood from the wound staining his clothes.

The third was caught off guard by this, and turned to watch his ally fall. Even so, he almost managed to regain his composure.

Almost.

In the time it took for the man to try to recover, V had already reached him. Fetching his weapon from the corpse of the second man, he swung in a clean horizontal arc, slicing across the man's chest. He, too, was felled.

Gunfire, coming from the kitchen, caused V to move again. This time, the firer was a lone man armed with a Franchi SPAS-12. V strafed, avoiding the shot blasts, fragments skimming past him by mere inches, shredding apart all that they came into contact with. They didn't come into contact with the masked one, however, and the wielder of the Italian-made shotgun was doomed as V closed in, meeting his end when the reddened knife was thrust by V into his torso.

Having dealt with him, V turned back and headed towards the stairs. Upon reaching them, and commencing to climb up them, yet another suited figure decided, in an act of bravery, to charge down the stairs with a blade in hand. This man suffered the same fate as the one before him, bending over forwards as V quickly thrust the sharp implement into the man's lower torso and withdrew it just as rapidly. As he fell, V advanced further up the stairs, a second guard, who had followed behind the first, realized that he was at a disadvantage and dropped his pistol out of fear. He promptly about-turned and bolted, but only got so far before the bloodstained knife was thrown yet again by V, spinning through the air, digging itself into the running man's back.

As the last guard fell, with an audible thump, V retrieved his blade from the man's still body. He stepped over the cadaver, walking a small distance down an upstairs passageway, past open-doored rooms, until he came across something that was somewhat outstanding, given V's current surroundings- a closed door.

He stopped in front of it, inspected it, ran his free hand across its surface and pressed down on it. It didn't budge- indeed, it was closed.

But was it locked?

He moved his hand further to the right, and pressed down once more, this time on the handle, and pressed forwards. Again, the door didn't budge.

Indeed, it _was _locked.

In light of this, V moved his hand away from the door, and took a step back...

* * *

Antoni Parule was paralyzed.

Not with any ailment, of course, but with fear. He had been rooted to the spot the moment he heard the last of his men fall, and even before that. His wife and child, too, were terrified, even though Antoni had succeeded in making them stop their nonsensical, fright-fueled babble.

And as a deathly pall of silence hung over the room, nay, the whole household, which terrified Antoni even more, he wondered what was going on outside- until he heard the creak of the door's handle. Even though the door was securely locked, his blood ran cold, and tried to keep his cool, or whatever remained of it, as his wife and child started spouting terrified whispers.

The handle made more noise as it rose back up to its usual position. Silence reigned once more, and Antoni and his family were calm again- if only for a moment.

For, in an instant, the door suddenly flew off of its hinges, slamming into a wall and falling to the floor. Antoni spied a black boot jutting through the space where the door once was, and fear began to fill his mind again, but it was not until he saw the rest of the intruding person that fear totally dominated him.

He..._it _stepped in, a figure clad in nothing but black save for a freakish white mask with an insidious grin. A phantom had stepped into the room, a bloodied wraith that, with its deranged grin and bloodied blade that it held in its right hand, looked like something right out of a nightmare. An eternally jovial masked monster dressed in robes of darkness.

But it was not his appearance that horrified Antoni Parule.

It was the way he spoke.

The demonic phantom spoke to him in a calm voice- collected, well-educated and with a tone so utterly and darkly pleasant in its own way that it chilled Antoni to the very core of his being.

And the jet-black, ever-smiling ghost said:

"Hello...Mr. Parule."

* * *

And, all the while, Jose, Henrietta, Eutimio and Crocifissa were running, with haste, towards their destination. And as they heard the consistent reports of gunfire and the abrupt, eerie silence that followed, each of them couldn't help but think one single thought.

_'What are we dealing with?'_

(A/N: I've decided to divide this into a two-parter. I know I haven't focused much on the girls, but they'll have plenty of time in the next part. The ending could have used a little more work...but, enough prattling from me. Read and review!)


	6. La Inizio Part II

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Chapter Two: La Inizio (Part II)**

"_There is no justice - there's just me."_

_-'Death', Mort._

"Hello, Mr. Parule."

It was with this calm yet ghostly utterance that the merry-faced killer spoke, with his porcelain face grinning demoniacally at his target and those who flanked him, that V traipsed into the room after his rough entry, his mantle of darkness following behind him. With his eyes behind his false visage deep-set in rage, the mask belying the unseen emotion that they showed, he strode forward and came to a stop before the hunched figure that was Antoni Parule, his gaze fixated on the cowering man all the while.

The aforementioned Italian, on the other hand, was too busy cowering with his back pressed against a wall along with the rest of his family to reply. Beginning to hyperventilate with his pupils dilating in shock, it took him what seemed to be an eternity to stammer out a coherent response.

"Wh-who are you?!"

The tone of the masked one shifted, still being placid but containing a hint of surprise. "My, my, Mr. Parule...we are acquainted! And yet you ask who I am. I will admit that I am somewhat shocked, taken aback!" A pause, and V spoke again, his voice devoid of the low level of astonishment that it bore mere moments ago. "No matter...because I am aware of what you have done- very much so."

V's statement only served to terrify the man before him even further. As the words left his mouth, he noticed Antoni's wife and son giving the recoiling figure worried glances, despite them being stricken with fear. The dark phantom took note of this, and exclaimed, "You- and those who are with you- have repressed them, haven't you?"

Vainly, Antoni attempted to retort, stumbling over his words, "W-what are you talking about-"

V chose to cut the man off, mid-sentence, and replied, bluntly, with, "You know. You all do. The fact is that you have chosen to quash the memories concerning me. I reckoned that you would do that." All throughout, his tone remained the same- collected, unruffled, and disquietingly calm. "However," he said, leaning down so he could look directly into the face of the man he confronted, "I do have time to give a lecture that will make you remember that which you have purposefully 'forgotten'."

"Wait-!"

Ignoring the cry of protest from the trembling businessman, V looked him squarely in his widened eyes, and muttered:

"Without any further delay, then...let us _begin_, shall we?"

* * *

Elsewhere, the chaos having attracted the attention of the fratello teams, the pairs were on the run towards the location of the fracas- the good most of them, at least, with Jean telling Giuseppe that he and his charge would remain in their current post as a precautionary measure should the target cross their path. Ladislao had also, in a show of snappishness to the younger handler, stated that he would remain in the bounds of the Vatican where he and Gloria were stationed- that, too, as a measure of prudence.

Aside from Jean and Rico, and the Vatican-based pair, the others were on the move. The units led by Guido, Azzura and Hilshire were close enough to hear the intermittent bursts of machine-gun fire. The former moved towards the scene at a casual pace, the monocled man that was Guido walking unfettered with his hands in his pockets. The latter two moved at a much more rapid pace, the SWA duo especially so. Two, however, moved the quickest; the teams comprised of Giuseppe and Henrietta, and Eutimio and Crocifissa. Indeed, so fast they were to jump at the call towards the source of the trouble that the respective duos, by an act of chance, happened to rendezvous with one another during their individual sojourns.

Upon them meeting, the handlers exchanged words. The cyborgs, on the other hand, merely exchanged glances, Henrietta's being nervous, Crocifissa's being stern.

"Eutimio...I see you're taking the same route?"

"Of course, that we are." The young man with the pageboy cut paused for a second, then inquired, "Where are the rest of you?"

"No doubt Hilshire and Triela will try to get here as fast as they can...Jean and Rico have opted to stay where they are to survey the area in case the target runs loose."

"I see..."

A simple reply, to which Giuseppe retorted, "Were you expecting more support?"

"Perhaps", Eutimio answered back, a hint of mild jest present in his voice. "But no matter. There are, of course, more pressing circumstances at hand."

Beckoning Giuseppe to follow, Eutimio went on ahead, resuming his old course and heading in the direction of the scene. Giuseppe, after a moment, trailed after him. The two cyborgs, having not said a single word to each other, were left standing for a brief moment, still staring at one another.

"Um..."

That was the confused utterance from the brown-haired girl, to which Crocifissa stonily replied, after abruptly and haughtily about-turning:

"You don't want to make us late, do you?"

With that, she went off, keeping up with the pair of handlers. Henrietta, on the other hand, continued to look on at the blonde as she got farther away from her with each passing moment, with an imperceptible look of befuddlement lining her features. It was only a call from Jose which brought her back to reality, and she ran after the group, violin case in hand.

Even so, that look still persisted for a while after.

* * *

"It was five years ago, Mr. Parule."

This the ghoulish grinning spectre said as he paced up and down, hands folded behind his back in an almost formal manner, his body bent into a slight stoop, in front of the aghast Antoni and his family, who were equally as frozen in fear as he was.

"I'm sure you remember it well, in the dark recesses of your mind. I am also sure that, in spite of your denial, the memories of it are startlingly eidetic to you, at least, they will become so in time. Continuing onward...it was a special place. You recall that, do you not? A nightmarish hell for all who had the supreme misfortune of becoming its inhabitants. A torturous, dank, squalid locale, and it earned quite a notable reputation...as did you, Mr. Parule, and many others, for your delight in doing your own tasks. You enjoyed extinguishing life, or making those who were unfortunate become subjects of your little games. Do you remember that?"

And, all at once, a menagerie of thoughts flooded the mind of the man that trembled before the masked intruder- those of a location in a desolate place in the British mainland, walled by rows of barbed wire, guard towers outfitted with searchlights stretching into a sky that seemed to be eternally dull, of innumerable figures shuffling along through steel gates, marching to toil and death-

"I...I was just...I don't know of what you're-"

V stopped pacing, and glared down at the man he was speaking to. "2001. Larkhill. I was there, Mr. Parule."

"What? You were..."

And after his panicked reply, the past came surging back to him- what V had reminded him of, and more, and, most importantly, the marauder standing above him. He could barely speak in the aftermath of this horrible revelation, voicing his response in a mortified whisper, his blood having run cold.

"...Oh, _God_."

The smiling face of the masked continued to survey him, its merry look unnerving Antoni even further. "Takes you back, _doesn't it?_"

Antoni was still in a state of speechlessness. V carried on for him.

"You're recollecting it in your mind's eye, aren't you? The path trodden by so many unlucky souls including myself, the structure of the place, practically wrapped in threatening wire, all of those guards stationed outside- shoot on sight being their code of conduct in the event of any man attempting to escape- and , most notably of all, the columns of the the damned and the judged marching to hell on earth. Yes, there they went...and I remember, first, you assembled them all in a suffocating place that you had the nerve to call a 'hall'. Am I right?"

More experiences and places once thought forgotten- a scabrous, vile, repugnant section of that deathly camp that passed off as a crude auditorium, and all of those, dressed in identical suits of deep blue, that once crowded it, some frightened to the core, others resigned to their current fate, but all unaware of their combined destiny-

"_Stop it!" _A pitiful wail in a desperate attempt to dispel the thoughts circulating inside his head.

"And then you dispatched them, sent them off to work like dogs, to rot and become cadavers, or to die disgracefully. However, that was the punishment reserved only for those who you and the others considered normal, wasn't it? There were..._special _cases. After all, the camp was renowned for its experimental ward."

More- people dressed in bleach-white aprons, some bloodstained, bright lamps and operating tables, with doctors standing over squirming, screaming forms, probing them with tools-

"_No! NO!"_

"Making you break apart at the seams, is it, Mr. Parule?"

A pause. "Those people," the other man pathetically whimpered, "we...we _had _to do what we did! All of those that were sent in, we were under orders! Don't you understand?!"

V's reply was venom-laced. "Perfectly. Now, the experimentation area was reserved for outstanding patients...but there were some that were more outstanding than the very definition of the word itself. Do you remember where you placed them, Mr. Parule? In a set of rooms, situated in a small, cramped corridor..."

And a final memory made itself known inside the disturbed mind of Antoni Parule, that of a long, stretching, tight corridor, with a series of doors on one side, all numbered...

"And you used to make frequent patrols up that passageway, didn't you? Every day, you would saunter past those doors, one by one, every room...one, two, three, four..."

One, two, three, four, and after four comes-

"...Five...?"

Then it all clicked- in a moment of gripping, terrifying clarity, Antoni understood who the masked character was, and why he had come here, and all the while pure, consummate horror coursed through his veins with no intention of stopping.

"Room...Five...oh, God, you're-?"

A nod, and a reply in a sinister whisper bearing a tone of unhallowed rancor.

"Yes...that's exactly who I am."

* * *

Around the same time at which V was giving his speech to his victims, the quartet composed of members from both the Agency and the VCSO came across the location of the scene, the source of the gunfire.

This was in no small part due to the rife stench of blood that the team of four caught on to, the cyborgs more acutely so, as they passed through a district in central Rome. The scent led down a alleyway.

And it was there that they witnessed the first scene of carnage.

The alleyway led to the door of a house, its pristine white paint smirched by dried red patches. Before it, two men lay dead, both dressed in typical suits, one short and rotund, the other tall and stick-like, their eyes sharing the same lifeless expression. Machine-guns, Beretta models, lay by their sides, as well as a handful of shell casings.

This was the sight that greeted the four, on which Eutimio commented:

"It looks like our man enjoys making a scene."

"Indeed..." Giuseppe continued to register the chaos before him for a while longer, before responding, "But we can't wait here all day. Henrietta?"

"Yes!" The young girl practically jumped at the call at the mention of her name. Crocifissa simply watched.

"Check inside...okay?"

The girl was off like a shot, opening her Amati violin case and retrieving the Fabrique Nationale de Herstal P90 encased within it in a matter of moments, and loaded and primed the advanced weapon just as quickly, before rushing to the door and, in one swift motion, kicking it open. The others followed on after her.

A sweep from left to right, and she found nothing...

...save the scene of yet another massacre, even more bloodier than the last.

The entirety of the lower floor of the house was wrecked, with blood decorating the floors and walls, and furniture and floorboards being torn apart by gunfire. Yet more suited figures lay in still, crumpled heaps, fresh blood pooling beneath their motionless bodies, with firearms and casings scattered about the floor. Even on the stairs, a corpse lay, the man's weapon lying discarded a few stairs below. There was no hostile presence- here, at least- but the carnage could not be cast aside. Simply put, the scene was tantamount to one of mayhem.

"Nothing here, Jose", Henrietta reported back, cautious and on the alert. Eutimio, Giuseppe and Crocifissa were also wary, and the second of those three, after scanning the room himself, took the opportunity, remaining on guard, to state:

"Dear god..."

"Apt", said Eutimio. "If this is the man we're after, he does enjoy causing a bloodbath."

"And if he _is _the one we're after," Giuseppe replied, "then the statements made about his ruthlessness-

_Said he'd been ruthless in his actions, if he was the bomber, Lorenzo had._

-certainly weren't falsifications."

"We should get-"

Eutimio was in the middle of sounding off his reply when Crocifissa cut in, after having being silent for a while.

"Do you hear that?"

Silence fell, and as the others followed the eye-patched girl's lead, they heard faint mumbling from the upper floor, succeeded immediately by a cry of terror, the voice being different in tone from that of the unknown other who was speaking beforehand, before the mumbles resumed yet again, in a calm and collected tone.

The four listened for a short while longer, with Crocifissa kneeling down and retrieving her FP-45 Liberator, already loaded, from her concealed ankle holster in the meantime. After remaining quiet, and hearing the mumbles and outcries from above, it was Giuseppe that spoke first:

"Go. Go!"

* * *

"A man who was reduced to little more than a lab rat, putty in your hands, experimented on as if I was some sort of expendable plaything. That was what I once was...no longer. You remember now, don't you?"

The frightened man shivered, and answered, "I...I get it...this is all about...revenge, isn't it? If you want it...then just kill me! _Do it!_" The last part of his sentence came out as a shriek, after which Antoni sunk to the floor, sobbing, head in his hands.

"Dear god, do it..."

V tilted his head, quizzically, as he quietly registered what Antoni had said- as well as hearing a faint series of sounds, footsteps, though this did not deter him- before answering.

"Revenge? Heavens! That is a dish that will be served to others...I am here to inform you that I have made my timely return to the worldly stage...just in case my demonstration at Sant'Ivo didn't give you that notion."

"Did you hear that?", Giuseppe uttered, directing his question at Eutimio. Both were fetching their respective firearms from holsters around the waist, hidden by their clothing.

"Perfectly."

"You were responsible for that?!"

"That I was- but I digress. I am not here to take your life...but I ask you to remember something. Often, when you were at Larkhill," V said, looking now at Antoni's cowering wife and child, "you used to bring your family along. Frequently, might I add. Yes?"

"What are you-"

"And you used to give them tours of the place, go on little walkabouts, visit prisoners, including myself, and treat them like animals by looking at them as if they were some sort of laughing stock, fit for degradation. They laughed at me, and them- I heard well enough- and you joined in with them like a merry joker. Am I right?"

"What of it?!"

V took a handful of paces forward, now standing over and looking down on the woman at Antoni's side, and, much to Antoni's unabated and now-renewed terror, unsheathed a knife, exclaiming:

"I don't feel that it is just to treat those who vie for freedom as objects of comedy."

"Stop! Listen to me- _WAIT!_"

Antoni's pleas fell on deaf ears as the following few seconds passed by in an instant. In one quick motion, V forcibly grabbed the woman's collar with his free hand, lifted her to her feet, and thrust the silver spike into her upper torso, through her ribcage. With the blade tearing her most vital organ apart, blood staining her garments, she convulsed, falling to the floor and squirming for a moment before lying still- dead. At once, the child ran over to her corpse and started babbling hysterically. Antoni was rendered mute, unable to comprehend the shock of what had just happened.

"One falls, and now..." V commented, now looking at Antoni's son, and raising his bloodied blade yet again-

* * *

And as the group of four took positions near the entrance of the room, Eutimio barked out an order.

"Crocifissa! Now!"

* * *

-and suddenly finding himself stopping as he heard a single footstep, a figure from outside the room making an entrance. V turned his head and glanced at the newcomer, and was surprised to see a girl, blonde and green-eyed, wearing a distinctly noticeable eye-patch and dressed in the clothing of a nun, looking at him.

_A child?_

The girl wasn't what surprised him the most, though- what did was the item that the girl held. A pistol, old and somewhat antiquated in terms of design, pointed directly at him. He was only able to take this image in for a moment-

"Take him down."

-before she fired, expending the single round that the derringer had. In a move that startled the girl, V ducked under the shot, the bullet whizzing above his head and slamming into the wall instead.

_A child- but still a hostile_, V thought. _I should take care of her...but I my work here is done._

Not opting to sheath his weapon right away, he made a dash towards the exit and, in turn, the girl, leaving Antoni and those who accompanied him behind, and flipped the knife around in his hand, so that he was grasping it by the blade. Seeing him get closer, the girl dropped her empty firearm and drew a combat knife, from one of her gloves, V noted, and slashed in a horizontal arc at the fast-approaching masked man, who was in range. This, too, he dodged, and he countered by ramming the hilt of his weapon into her stomach before passing her by.

Crocifissa, having just been struck with considerable force, keeled over, slightly, briefly immobilized- and this was all that V needed to slip by her. The blow wasn't nearly enough to cause major damage, but it was still a rather hefty one.

V, exiting the room, was surprised yet again as his eyes fell upon not one person, but a trio of people- two men, and another girl, dressed in an outfit that looked similar to a school uniform, with brown eyes and hair, who, like the girl before, were all aiming firearms squarely at him.

_I've no time for this._

* * *

Henrietta was the first to fire, letting off a burst from her P90, followed up by discharges from Giuseppe's FN Five-SeveN and Eutimio's Beretta 92. To the amazement of all, however, they all fired too late, as the masked man, in a fleeting instant, suddenly leapt into the air as they commenced their barrage, the shots missing him entirely as he flew over the group and landed on the stairs. Bounding down those, he made for the door. Henrietta wheeled about and let loose another salvo the man's way, but was too late then, too- he had all but disappeared. Eutimio and Giuseppe went outside the house in an attempt to pursue him, but the masked character was gone. Giuseppe let out a sigh.

"We know it's him who caused the annihilation of Sant'Ivo...still, we can't pursue him, even though we know he's the real culprit."

Eutimio nodded. "Nothing left to do but eventually report back now, is there? As said...pursuing him will amount to nothing."

Giuseppe agreed, and was preparing to leave before he and the others were called back into the room where Antoni was still in by Crocifissa, who had recovered.

"He's mentioned something worthy of note. About some sort of room- it could be important information."

Eutimio knelt down next to the man, whose son was still positioned over the corpse of his wife, sobbing uncontrollably, and asked, quite aware of the man's current state of mind:

"Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"We want to know what happened to you...in regards to you meeting that man in the cloak. You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Still no answer.

"It's no use, Eutimio," Giuseppe said, looking at the corpse of the woman lying next to the shivering figure that was Antoni Parule. "Whatever that man did to him did him in good. Getting information from him won't be easy to do. Let's-"

"...Five..."

Giuseppe was silenced by this barely audible utterance from the man sitting on the floor, and Eutimio listened intently. "Five?"

"Five...Room Five..."

The man was quiet once more. Eutimio stood back up, and turned to Giuseppe.

"It looks like we have something to look into regarding that masked man, don't we?"

Giuseppe nodded his assent.

"Indeed, and to add to that...it's clear that he isn't a run-of-the-mill criminal. I feel that this case...will become quite a lengthy one."

* * *

A/N: Well, here it is...I feel that I could have done better on some parts, around the middle and the end, but I'll leave you readers to decide that. I might be sticking to the comic too much, too, and other things to add to that- but, I'll leave you all to decide that, too. Hope you enjoyed it.


	7. La Pianificare

**A Work by Gaia Cleaver:**

_**LA MACHERA- A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction.**_

**Interlude: Pianificare.**

"_In real life, strategy is actually very straightforward. You pick a general direction and implement like hell."_

_- Jack Welch._

Through the streets of central Rome, amidst the scene of panicked, crazed chaos that was the city at ground level made from the earlier reports of gunfire, with frenzied citizens scurrying about the paved roads in a manner akin to the wild and frantic movements of a pack of frightened mice- though, the aimless dashing of a group of beheaded chickens would have made for an equally apt comparison- a shadow, an invisible wraith even in broad daylight, white-faced, smiling, and as dark as night even in the face of the radiance of the sun, defying it almost, flitted unseen through the capital.

Above, rather, as the phantom, being, of course, V, bounded across rooftops with rapidity- having reached the rooftops beforehand by speedily scaling a building- and without exerting much effort as a means to escape, undetected, the bloody, deathly scene that he was in mere moments ago, leaving behind a mute and terrified Antoni Parule who was, at this point in time, huddled up motionless in a foetal position, along with his son who had ceased his hysteric sobbing and had resigned himself to burying his head in the corpse of his mother and whimpering quietly, and a group of Section Two and VSCO handlers and child operatives who were both confused and alarmed simply at how speedily the vigilante had made his exit from the Italian man's abode.

The man made his departure from the centre of the city even more swiftly as, with ease and dexterity, he quickly leapt from rooftop to rooftop, darting through the air, a white-faced grinning wraith, a phantom, a patch of animated darkness completely unnoticed even in the face of broad daylight by those below as panic spread, infectious and like wildfire, through the people in the streets and came to control them.

Making his high-altitude crossing through the urban area with haste, not much time had passed before he had reached the border of the tiny nation of the Vatican City. Upon coming to the aforementioned border, he clambered down a railing on the last building that he landed on, and reached ground level in a hurry. Upon doing so, he dashed forwards towards one of the walls that hemmed in the holy city, the west wall, and towards the street that ran parallel to it. With the area being deserted, devoid of any activity because of the nearby fracas- though, admittedly, the long street was often not traversed by many, earning visits from the odd handful of solitary travellers- the way was clear for the black-clad figure to quickly climb up and vault the mentioned wall.

He cleared it deftly, landing neatly, unseen, in the boundaries of the Vatican, whose denizens were also fretful. He moved at once, heading in the direction of his abandoned abode, using the darkness provided by the shadows of buildings to advance stealthily and fleetingly. It was but a few moments before he came across the preserved church that served as his homestead. Towards this he promptly darted, slowing down to a casual walk by the time he had reached the entrance of the structure.

And, thus, he entered.

* * *

He stepped in, the echoes produced by his footsteps reverberating around the empty, hallowed hall. Thin beams of sunlight, filtering in to the interior of the building through cracks and holes in the aged ceiling of the derelict place of holiness, passed over the masked man, briefly illuminating him and licking at his jet-black attire as he paced towards the altar, his billowing cloak trailing behind him. eventually coming to stand before the folding chair placed in front of it.

After this, he took off his top hat and placed it on a small, stout hangar- and whilst he was doing so, he mused, both about what had transpired and what lay ahead in the future for him.

_Antoni has been dealt with appropriately. However, he was but the first stepping stone. There are more problems to overcome, more schemes to plan. More visitations to be made._

Still thinking, he abruptly about-turned, his mantle following in a dark crescent, and walked down the hall, backtracking until he came to a stop before a pew near the entrance of the place, and glanced downwards.

What he was looking at was the slumbering, curled up form of Stella Crovado, covered by a sheet that once covered the altar, her hair being in disarray and her fidgeting on occasion- but still sound asleep. V focused on her, kneeling down and watching her rest for a while, as fresh thoughts, now concerning the person he examined, circulated in his mind.

_As for this one...she's a peculiarity._

He paused for a moment, perfunctorily, and carried on with his train of thought-

_I am, admittedly, at odds as to what to do with her. Protecting her is a certainty, but I am unsure on other details. However, perhaps I can..._

-until it was suddenly cut off by a moan from the girl before him, who shuffled about on the pew for a short time until she woke from her slumber. Groaning again, she blinked a handful of times, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the inside of the church, before weakly rubbing her eyes with the back of one hand and brushed her hair back with her other hand. In the midst of this, V chose to greet her with a light-hearted exclamation of:

"Did you rest well?"

"V...? A-Ah...my rest was fine, thanks..."

The white, grinning face bobbed up and down, pleasantly.

"Good to hear- after your recent brush with trouble, I expected your rest to be a decent one."

There was a brief pause after this, a short silence, broken when Stella inquired, "About that..."

Her saviour cocked his head inquisitively. "Yes, Stella?"

"Whilst you were talking to me, I...I was thinking about that time," the girl said, somewhat hesitantly, though V was listening intently to her words, "and I thought to myself that I didn't thank you enough for what you did. I...just reckoned that I should tell you..."

In response to this, V looked her in the eyes, the painted irises of his mask staring into hers, and said, in a tone of sincerity, "There's no need. Protecting you was simply a part of my duty, and one that I was all too willing to carry out. Gratitude, honestly, is not necessary."

"N-No, really, it is!" Stella looked at him, startled, somewhat taken aback by what the masked fellow had said- and such surprise was evident in her raised tone of voice, as well- and then said, "You...rescued me without a thought when no-one else would have lifted a finger in my defence...and you've taken me here. Here, where..."

She stopped for a short while, and looked around the old, expansive hall briefly, and turned back to V, carrying on. "Where I have a place that I can stay, that I can call home...and I know it's only been so long after you saved me, but...I just feel that I need to do something to make up for it, so..."

V placed a hand on her shoulder, addressing her hesitation. "Go on. Continue. Be not frightened or uneasy- ask what needs to be asked, yes?"

Another pause, longer than the ones preceding it, came about after this utterance, leaving a pall of silence hanging over the room that was finally broken when Stella asked:

"If it's all right with you...is there any way that I can...be of assistance?"

_...use her._

In the middle of the unbridled chaos that was central Rome walked a strange man.

This person, who sauntered with a carefree air so obvious and distinct that it could be detected from miles away, was a peculiar one. He was a dark-skinned man with a head of slicked-back dark brown hair, tied back in a ponytail, with a few locks drooping downwards near his right eye, and his left was framed by a monocle. Donning a white overcoat and a set of neat work clothes underneath that were almost scientific in nature, the man looked impeccable- a look accentuated by him remaining calm in the middle of the panic that surrounded him, walking ever onwards with a casual gait and with his hands in his pockets.

This appearance belied the man's true form, though. He was a member of the Vatican Child Security Organization- and a rather outstanding and peculiar one at that. Known by his colleagues to be a man of many ocular habits- stemming from the fact that the man was, in his spare time or whenever he saw fit, he was a forensic, his own sort of crime scene investigator, as well as a former scientist- he was odd in that he was eccentric, allowing many of the aforementioned habits of his, originating from him being a scientific man, to affect his actions outside of the field of science. Not like he cared.

One of these habits was taking his time- for this man was of the belief that any scientific endeavour needed to have immeasurable time and effort poured into it to yield acceptable results and a modicum of success. This habit had spread to how he dealt with most things- scientific or unscientific, important or unimportant, and even into how he walked; slowly and steadily and calmly.

And all of this formed the man that was Guido Torregrossa- a 'loose screw', a name appended to him by companions, of the VCSO.

Onwards he walked, not heeding the situation around him one bit. His younger, bespectacled partner, Silvestra- who was often subjected to the man's quirks, mind, but had a far less eccentric and far more studious air about herself- accompanied him, trotting onwards at the same pace as her handler. The pair stayed like this for a while, silent and ongoing, and they had been such ever since they departed, heading towards the source of the earlier reports of gunfire, until Guido decided to talk, making a comment on the chaos that he now chose to heed.

"Look at them, scurrying like ants...I wonder, can this masked vigilante really turn out to be interesting and worthwhile if, indeed, he is capable of creating chaos like this by his own hand?" The man's tone was inquisitive, and deeply so.

The girl beside him looked at him with an inquisitive eye, and uttered, "Has he become a subject of interest that quickly to you, sir?"

"Of course!", the monocled man exclaimed, rather jovially, for his tone was often a light and merry one whenever he came across something or someone that intrigued him. "If his appearance can herald such havoc as this so easily, then it's only obvious that I should be fascinated by this fellow, isn't it?"

Silvestra only sighed in response, and muttered, "I suppose it would be rather clear, sir, yes."

"Quite. However, there is but one problem."

"That is, sir?"

"Why, where he is. We are indeed heading towards the source of the trouble. What is perplexing is that we haven't come across it. Of course, the possibility remains that the source could be somewhere covert. In which case," he said, a grin forming on his face, "I may be interested in this person even more due to his methods..."

"There is that possibility, sir," Silvestra replied, agreeing, as the duo paced past an alleyway to their left, "but-"

_Wait._

Silvestra halted, and backtracked a few steps back to the entrance of the alleyway that she and Guido had just passed by. Her handler noticed her movements, and, too, stopped, looking at her with an air of curiosity.

"But?"

Thinking that she had seen something out of the corner of her eye, she looked down the alleyway- and immediately said to Guido, "Sir...you should see this."

Humming inquisitively, he walked over to where his junior stood, and peered down the alleyway. The sight that met his eyes was an entrance to an abode at the far end, with its door clearly removed by force, and, by the opening, the blood-stained rotting cadavers of two men in suits, clearly guards, with deep gashes in their chests, both slumped against each wall and limply hanging on to their firearms which, too, were spattered with blood. The monocled handler's eyes widened at the sight of this, and he stated:

"So this is the epicentre...and I was somewhat correct about the possibility of a covert modus operandi...and I am only more enthralled by him!"

"Sir," Silvestra said, looking at her handler with a degree of concern, for she was often worried by her senior's habits, "I personally don't think that fascination is the right thing in this situation. Rather..."

"Of course. Yet there's nothing wrong with further enthralment, no?"

A pause, and no response from Silvestra. Guido then resignedly sighed, and uttered:

"Shall we?"

Inside the mentioned house, downstairs, a discussion was taking place between the members of Section Two and the VCSO- with the clue that the distraught Antoni Parule revealed being its catalyst. Jose and Eutimio were in the middle of a talk, as Henrietta and Crocifissa stood idly by, listening in, but staying silent.

"'This information certainly suggests that this guy wasn't out everyday criminal, doesn't it?"

That was Jose. His colleague nodded his assent, saying, "Both of our chiefs will be pretty taken aback by this little snippet. That is, if this man was right with 'Room Five'."

"Of course...and this case will have gotten a whole lot bigger than it is now after we report this."

And Eutimio took a breath, about to pose a reply, when, at that moment-

"Was I too late?"

-a new face and voice made themselves welcome in the forms of the dark-skinned form and the inquiring tone of Guido Torregrossa. Silvestra soon appeared behind him, and Eutimio was the first to greet the man's arrival.

"Decided to amble again, did you?"

Ignoring Eutimio's question, Guido instead surveyed the room and the scene of carnage that it was- immobile corpses, trails of blood, bullet holes and clear signs of struggles were what he took in, and in doing so he was filled with a sense of satisfaction.

"Good...so this has turned out to be something interesting"

"'Interesting'...?"

Eutimio turned to Jose and said, rather blunty, "Guido here's...strange. Has his quirks."

Guido overheard this comment, and replied, plainly, with "You flatter me yet again, Eutimio. But you cannot deny that the person who did this is rather interesting, no? Plus this case as it stands now..."

"Think what you will, Guido."

"Hm. Quite. However..." He glanced at Eutimio, and uttered, "aside from what surrounds us, would you mind filling me in on what else I missed?"

"I see..."

In the short space of time that had passed between his question and the present, Guido had been taken upstairs to the room where Antoni still sat up against the wall in a state of paralyzation. Presently, he was standing over the corpse of the man's wife, examining her body as Antoni's son- who had needed some prior persuasion to leave his mother's side- sobbed quietly nearby, with Guido taking notice of the wounds inflicted upon his mother. As the others watched him do his work, Guido took to procuring a wrapped up sandwich from his pocket- another habit of his, for Guido was prone to snacking in the middle of his assignments-and proceeded to unwrap it and take a bite, the others watching, somewhat bemused by this. After digesting the first mouthful, he then stated, with a tone of intrigue:

"Knife wounds, I see...unique, his methods are. Most certainly not like other people we've dealt with in the past." He stopped a moment, took another bite of his meal, and looked at Eutimio and Jose, asking, "You mentioned to me a 'Room Five' on the way up here. The intruder's origin, according to the fellow over there, yes?", gesturing at the statue-like Antoni.

Jose nodded in reponse. "I've heard about it. It's a place at a facility called 'Larkhill' in the United Kingdom. The room was a part of a special wing of the facility. The place itself was completely destroyed a few years back. If what Antoni said was true..."

"Then it looks like we're dealing with an ex-patient of that institute, doesn't it? And a rather extraordinary one at that." With this, Guido stood up, and took the time to peer at the filling of his sandwich- again, a habit- and muttered something to himself about the flavour of it before deciding to turn to his companions, swallowing as he did so, and said:

"Well, then! It is best that we return back to respective headquarters as swiftly as possible. And, on our part, Eutimio, to contact Azzura and Ladislao to inform them of what we have learned. Then we can start getting to the bottom of this."

He paused, and then gleefully exclaimed:

"This is somewhat exciting, is it not?"

"You seek to aid me?", V asked, intrigued by Stella's question. As a reply, Stella nodded, voicing her response with something of a passion, even though, once more, it was a somewhat hesitant reply.

"I just...feel like I want to be of use to you. You saved me...so I want to repay you. I want to be responsible for something...even though a part of me wants to stay here and forget about everything else that's going on...but that's not right...so...can we..."

V once more urged her to continue. "Yes?"

"...Make a deal?"

"Make a deal..." V pondered that phrase for a short while, and thought about his plans simultaneously, what he had planned for the future. And it was at that point that he remembered the next of his targets, a former Larkhill employee turned holy figure who served at a nearby church in Rome that he had paid secret visitations to many a time, and then said, "I do believe that can be done, yes. There is an opportunity for you to help me greatly in the near future."

At this, he looked Stella in the eyes, and spoke again, in a tone of heavy seriousness, his eyes hard-set behind his smiling porcelain face. "But I ask you this, Stella Crovado...the task within said opportunity is a vital one. A critical one...and success is required. This could be too strenuous for you, so I ask...are you certain about your request?"

"I want to help you...even if the task ahead is like that...I'm ready!"

And V answered, with a pleasant tone:

"Good. Then all is settled."

A/N: Re-made. And I've been busy with other things, but the next chapter'll be up soon.


End file.
